Limitless
by Kellen
Summary: In the future, the Core and the Colonies are butting heads, wreaking havoc on the shipping trade. Couriers between the worlds are hard pressed to find work, and a small group of people find that saving themselves won't be enough. Alternate Universe.
1. Chapter 1

_**Limitless**_

_by Kel_

_A Bleach Alternate Universe fanfiction_

_**Rating**: T for violence, some suggestive themes_

_**Disclaimers:** Kubo Tite's the genius behind the characters. Some elements closely resemble those of Joss Whedon's Firefly/Serenity series. I think I lifted a few things from George Lucas, too. Anyway… not all of this is mine. _

_**Summary**: In the future, the Core and the Colonies are butting heads, wreaking havoc on the shipping trade. Couriers between the worlds are hard pressed to find work, and a when small group of people find themselves caught in the middle, they'll also find that saving themselves won't be enough._

_Additional Notes located after the chapter.

* * *

_

Sparks arced across the corridor, and skittered across the steel-grid decking. The ship listed, her bulkheads straining, and a box of tools slid across the floor with a terrible screech. Somewhere down the hallway, there was a thud and small explosion. A tall woman, long blonde hair pulled back loosely, yelped as the floor abruptly righted itself. She fell sideways, caught herself against the wall, and hit a button with the heel of her hand. "Madarame! Try flying straight! I didn't fix the navigational control for nothing, you know."

A string of cursing made tinny by the intercom was the only answer she received. With a grunt, she let go and the cursing stopped abruptly. She wiped her grimy hands on her thighs, thankful that she was wearing dark colors and sturdy cloth. The ship pitched, and she fell forward, yelping again as she landed on her hands and knees. She bit her lip against the many curses that came to mind, and braced her foot against the bulkhead as she climbed to her knees. The floor rolled again, and the toolbox slid down the corridor toward her. She grimaced at the racket it made and caught it as it coasted past her. "Renji?" she called over the straining metal and crashing equipment.

Renji peered around a corner, his tattooed forehead smudged with grease and dirt and his impossibly red hair hanging lank around his shoulders. He was on his hands and knees, an old-fashioned screwdriver clutched in on hand. "Tools, please."

She pushed the box back toward him and he snagged it with his free hand.

"Navigation back?" he asked as he rummaged through the box.

"Yeah," she answered. "Madarame's trying to fly."

The ship lurched sideways and Renji's head knocked against the bulkhead. Blinking wildly, he scrambled to catch the toolbox as it started to skid. "I'm gonna shoot him out an airlock. Call him, Rangiku."

Rangiku shot him a long-suffering look and stumbled across the shaking floor back to the intercom. "Ikkaku!"

This time, he answered with less cursing. "What?"

"Our fearless leader," she said, "wants to know why you seem to be having some difficulty flying."

There was silence on the other end.

"So help me," Renji muttered, "if he's done something stupid…"

Rangiku blinked at the intercom. "Eh, Madarame?" Silence. "Hey, you. Person on watch and supposedly flying? Why'd the rest of us get a rude awakening?"

"…we hit a meteor."

Rangiku exchanged a confused look with Renji. "Just one?" he called, looking around at the damage.

"One… dozen or so."

She pressed her lips together. The floor fell out from under her and she flailed for purchase. Behind her, Renji cursed colorfully as the toolbox jumped. Rangiku regained her feet and angrily punched the "talk" button. "What the hell is going on, Madarame?" She could almost see the bald man scratching the back of his neck. "And keep your bloody hands on the controls."

"How did you…"

"What is happening?" Each word was clipped and angry.

"We're in an asteroid belt. You know the one."

For a moment, the only sound was the shaking of the steel decking and the occasional muted crash. When it was apparent that Renji was a little too flabbergasted to speak to the problem, Rangiku addressed it. Her voice was calm – too calm. "Why, pray tell, are we in the asteroid belt that we agreed that it would be _bad_ to go into?"

Ikkaku's voice was full of pride. "I was outrunning the patrol."

Renji's hand came up to cover his face and he began muttering threats that, frankly, Rangiku would rather not hear. She closed her eyes, temper boiling over and all trace of the forced polite tone she had used was gone when she yelled at Madarame. "You thrice-damned idiot! We aren't carrying anything illegal this time!"

"We… aren't?"

An inarticulate cry of frustration lodged in her throat, and instead of all the things she wanted to say to Madarame, all that escaped was a sort of choked whine. She smashed a fist into the bulkhead next to the intercom, and turned to Renji.

"Out an airlock," was all the red-haired man said.

Rangiku's mouth worked and it was a moment before she could speak again. "I'll call Shorty." She turned toward a ladder and had a foot on the bottom rung before Renji answered her.

"Don't call him that. He'll never get us the supplies we need if you do."

The ship listed and Rangiku clung to the ladder for all she was worth. As she resumed her climb, Renji could hear her muttered about idiot thugs, asteroid belts and old ships. "Oh, hey," he called before she was out of earshot.

She ducked back down, eyebrow raised. "Yeah?"

"Check on Zabimaru for me, would ya'?"

Had she something in her hands, she would have thrown it. "Check on your own damn parrot!" With that, she was out of sight, gone to call her boss for a bit of help.

Renji sighed, and climbed to his feet just in time to be thrown back to his knees. With a narrow-eyed gaze, he looked around – sparks were still flying into the air, the occasional thud and muffled explosion could be heard, and a high-pitched whine that said something terribly wrong with the engines was developing – and looked down at the screwdriver still in his hand. He threw his hands up in disgust, and hoped Rangiku could convince Shorty to send a whole repair crew.

* * *

Hitsugaya wondered briefly if he could pull off getting lost – accidentally, of course – planetside. Surely the warehouse on the surface was due for a safety inspection or some such nonsense. He blinked at the stars out the porthole and wondered why, exactly, it seemed that space port designers were trolls who loved dark and enclosed spaces. It was like doing business in a dank cave, sitting at his desk – a desk he felt lost behind, thanks to its stature and his lack of same – and plodding through paperwork.

Paperwork. He snorted. Antiquated term, but it fit. He tapped the screen a few times, chin in one hand. Doing the monthly inventory report was not exactly his idea of fun, but, then again, one did not run an entire branch of a courier business and have fun. He ran a hand through brilliant white hair, and scratched the back of his neck.

Not that his job was anything more than a glorified secretary. He snorted, tapped the screen again, and nodded to himself. The inventory list for his warehouse was up, and he glared at the screen, daring the computer to give him trouble this time. He'd gotten a bit of dressing down after the last month's reports were late; the computers in his god-forsaken hellhole of a space port had somehow crashed. He'd been more concerned with keeping life support running – space was _cold_, damn it – than turning in his monthly reports on time. Hitsugaya yanked open a desk drawer and pulled out an old ledger, its leather edges worn. The book came down on his desk with a loud thud and Hitsugaya smirked. There was nothing more satisfying than throwing the account book around (especially when his carefully recorded numbers did not match the computer's reckoning).

Shunsui, the last time he'd shown up, had laughed his fool head off when he saw Hitsugaya was keeping a separate account record with paper and pen. _Technology_, he'd said, _was a blessing; means you didn't have to actually write anything down. _Hitsugaya hadn't answered; he liked it this way, and he could proudly say his branch records were the most accurate of any of Yamamoto's courier branches. He could also say that none of his side ventures would ever show up in Yamamoto's logs; the monies were carefully accounted for, and they would never approach the main office servers.

He pushed a button, and another screen unfolded itself from the desktop. He set that to connect with the main branch servers, and thumbed through the ledger. He ran his finger down the columns, checking the last payments credited. Automatic transfers for the crew salaries – most useless bunch in space; he couldn't remember why he hadn't fired that lot yet – and the warehouse workers took up most of the page, but two lines up from the bottom was the one he was looking for. (He snorted; the next entry was a payment from to a different wholesaler for parts needed that Yamamoto didn't send.)

The main branch had been sent its share of the money and, in return, Hitsugaya would receive the supplies they thought he needed as well as the product to transport. Same amount every month, same stock sent every month. Same pointless monthly report that always said the same thing. Hitsugaya grabbed his pen and made a note in the ledger margin: _month end_.

He'd gone through the lists and the accounts and was almost ready to sign off on it, and send the completed report to the main office when he noticed the discrepancy. It wasn't much – a crate or two of missing items – but it was enough to give him pause. He hesitated; sending in the report late again might be bad for business. Yamamoto could, and would if the mood struck him, give a branch bad business in retaliation. Then again, his crew had been unusually productive of late, and that last shipment that wasn't officially in Yamamoto's books had given him some extra funds.

He frowned, then leaned over the desk and grabbed the headset there. Without bothering to put it on, he thumbed the small talk button. "Hanatarou?"

The timid floor manager croaked an answer after a few moments, and Hitsugaya sighed. He wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to hire such an unassuming boy for his warehouse floor.

"I need an inventory check."

There was a pause, and some crackling; port to planetside communications on these old headsets weren't the best. "Is there a problem?" Hanatarou asked, his voice breaking and Hitsugaya knew the kid was thinking he had to be at fault somehow. He barely suppressed a frustrated groan; was it really beyond him to hire competent people?

"I need to check something." Hitsugaya looked up as a chime sounded. "Have it to me by tomorrow morning." He put down the headset without acknowledging Hanatarou's answer and frowned at the flashing message on one of his screens.

_Incoming call_.

Perfect. Probably his miscreant crew looking for another job. Or Yamamoto's second, giving him a friendly reminder that the reports were due today. He checked the id; miscreants it was. With a sigh, he tapped the screen a little harder than he needed. "What?"

"Hey, Shorty."

Her voice was like music to his ears; bad, grating, off-key music. "Matsumoto." He raised an eyebrow; her strawberry-blonde hair was disheveled and her eyes were lined and tired. That though, wasn't what alerted him to trouble: a smear of grease decorated her chin and the collar of her shirt was torn and dirty. He'd never known her to make a call without looking completely presentable. Instead of reprimanding her – he hated the nickname she'd given him – he just sighed and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Our delivery's going to be a tad late," she said without preamble and with a smile.

Her forced cheerfulness had him wincing. "Do I even want to know what happened this time?"

"Probably not," she answered, and launched into a story that left him wanting to smack his forehead. Repeatedly.

With a sigh, he went back to the ledger and inventory lists. "I'll arrange a shipment."

"And repair crews?"

He snorted. "I should just let you to your own devices."

Matsumoto smiled brightly. "So, you'll send some people."

"This would be easier planetside," he replied, ignoring her. "Can you get to a colony?"

She shrugged. "Ikkaku says we're not too far from Beta-121. We can land there; there's a good sized town in the western continent. Belio, I think it's called."

He nodded. "Send me coordinates when you land; our people will already be on the way."

"What about our cargo?"

"Let it be late; I'll contact the owners. I don't have anyone else available to pick it up right now, and I'm not about to pawn it off on another branch."

"Sounds good; you'll get coordinates when we do." Matsumoto smiled again, her blue eyes looking a little less weary. "Thanks, Shorty."

"Don't call…" The connection was terminated. He growled at the screen. "Don't call me Shorty."

* * *

Belio was not a pretty town, but Rangiku was long used to the absence of beauty. She stepped carefully over a smile pile of debris, her bootheels sending up small puffs of dust. Beta-121's rainy season had come and gone, leaving her western capital parched and dry. Even Belio's townspeople looked weatherbeaten, their skin tanned and leathery. It was not a place Rangiku would enjoy, but she had frequented many such places all too often in her work.

She had secured the ship – such as it was; no one could fly it now anyway – and left an hour after Renji had dragged Ikkaku away. The_ Lily_ sat only a half click out of town, her beaten and dirty hull no prettier than the town she rested beside. _Someday,_ Rangiku promised. _Someday she'd get prettied up_. Until then, though, _Lily_ was reliable and fast, until Ikkaku got it into his fool head to plunge her nose first into an asteroid field.

Rangiku snorted as she turned into an alley, looking for the bar she'd been told about. Renji had neglected to tell her where exactly he and Ikkaku were going, but she knew her crewmates: they'd make a showing at the seediest bar in town. It wasn't long before someone on the street told her about The Blue Door and Rangiku had sighed. Bar owners had no imagination. They slapped a coat of bright paint on an old door in a seedy alley, and thought they were clever.

It made their establishments easy enough to find, though. Probably the whole point.

Rangiku paused with her hand on the door. It would most likely be too much to ask that this place show some semblance of class, but she hoped anyway. She shoved it open, wincing at the bell that rang obnoxiously above her head. Every eye in the place – with the exception of those that belonged to parties too drunk to notice the bell – fixed on her, and she hesitated. A moment of uncertainty, and then it was gone as she strode forward, imperious gaze fixed on the bar (and a silent resolve to smack Ikkaku later for the sniggering he was doing in that booth in the corner).

She leaned against the bar, waiting patiently for the bartender to finish up with a couple other customers, and glanced at the monitors on the far wall. Better showing than the last bar she'd been in; she wasn't a prude, but she honestly believed porn was better with a smaller audience. This place was showing newsreels. Still not her first choice of programming, but maybe by the time they got to the next place, she'd find something she liked. With a glance at the not-hurrying bartender, she turned her attention to the monitors.

And promptly disregarded the diva on the screen babbling about the Core's latest fashions. She turned her attention to the small print scrolling across the top of the screen.

_Four murders in the Core's capital; all high-ranking officials. _

_Mysterious disappearance of philanthropist Randall Thorpe stumps investigators._

Rangiku raised an eyebrow at that one; Shorty might not be pleased with that. He and Thorpe had an agreement that kept them both afloat. She wasn't sure of the details, but they'd run more than a few errands for Thorpe Enterprises, Inc. TEI had once been their biggest client.

She glanced at the bartender, who was still not looking in her direction. She'd raise a glass in honor if she had one. She wanted to be totally smashed, and recovering from her hangover by the time Shorty's repair team arrived.

_Core and Colonies have yet to reach governance agreement._

Rangiku snorted. Old news. The Core and the Colonies had never gotten on well, and things were worse now that several Colonies enforced tariffs not approved by the Core. It made running a legitimate courier business difficult, at best. Of course, running one on illegimate means was much, much easier.

The bartender was walking toward her, and Rangiku caught one last headline before he spoke.

_Investigators come closer to arresting Montoya family head._

"Whaddya need?"

Rangiku regarded the tired-looking barkeep with a raised eyebrow. "I need a lot, but some hard liquor'll do nicely for now."

He actually smiled at the lame joke and Rangiku grinned back. "Long day?" she asked.

He snorted. "People are up in arms 'round here, what with the Montoya news." He rummaged around under the counter. "Bel's whiskey do ya?"

"Is it good?"

"Bel's? Best 'round here."

She nodded, pointed to the monitor. "What's with the Montoya news?" Never hurt to see what had the locals jumpy, especially if she was going to be stuck here awhile.

He raised an eyebrow as he poured her a shot. "You didn't hear?" He pushed the glass to her and didn't bother waiting for an answer. "The Montoya family's close to falling, and the boss has put out last minute hits to save himself. Revenge. That sort of thing. Whoever he has been wanting dead."

Rangiku frowned, the glass halfway to her lips. "Why'd that got people here upset? I wouldn't think Belio'd be top of his list."

The barkeep shrugged. "You never know. Montoya's been off since this arrest news came out. Strung up a guy who spilled a drink. Put out a hit on some guy he didn't like the looks of. He's all over the place. He stopped on Beta-121 once and people here are paranoid."

Rangiku rolled her eyes before downing the shot.

"More?" The 'keep held up the bottle of Bel's.

Rangiku smiled.

Renji watched his crewmate work the barkeep for information with a knowing smile. The girl was good; he had to give her that. It was no wonder Shorty kept her near; Rangiku had a knack for finding out information, and she could get anyone to open up to her. The only problem was that she'd come back with too much, and sorting out the good stuff took all three of them.

Ikkaku leaned over, eyeing the woman at the bar. "She doing it again?"

"Yeah."

"She found us already?"

"Can't say if she's seen us yet." Renji shrugged. "Girl always finds us, though."

Ikkaku frowned and shrugged and brought his cheap ale to his lips again. Renji let his gaze slide over the crowd in the bar, smirking when he found someone worth watching. Dark-haired. Perfect body. Tight clothes. He almost forgot he hated being stuck in Belio as the girl sauntered across the room. She turned, and he saw her face.

Perfection. He loved pouty red lips. He wondered if she was claimed. Decided he didn't care.

Clocked Ikkaku across the jaw when the man sputtered and sent damn cheap recycled ale onto his cheek. "What in the hell?" he hissed, arm cocked for another blow.

Ikkaku shoved Renji's fist aside as he rubbed his jaw. "Our girl's got trouble."

Renji scowled, but turned to look anyway. Two men – one bigger than he and Ikkaku combined – leaned over Rangiku, who looked hard-pressed to remain civil. "She can handle it."

Ikkaku snorted. "I know that," he said, "but shouldn't we at least watch?"

Renji blinked, his gaze finding the dark-haired beauty once more before coming back to Rangiku. Honestly, no woman had a thing on Rangiku when she took down a pervert. Ikkaku had a point. Watching would be good. With any luck, Rangiku didn't know they were here and they could watch without reprisal.

A grin spread across Ikkaku's face at Rangiku turned around, her hand already around the neck of a stout bottle. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Rangiku poked the big man in the chest with the bottle, and he responded by pinning her against the bar. Rangiku took only the time to scowl before swinging the bottle.

It shattered against the big guy's temple, sending shards of glass and whiskey flying. Big Guy staggered sideways, his hand over his bleeding temple, but it was the other man who retaliated. He lunged at Rangiku, who ducked and spun to the side.

Renji watched with a sort of morbid fascination as Rangiku stood up, took a step back and ran into Big Guy, who seemed more mad than hurt.

"Not good," Ikkaku muttered as Big Guy's hand closed around Rangiku's arm.

Renji was already moving forward. He had only made two steps forward – Ikkaku still scooting out of the booth behind him – when Rangiku yelped. Big Guy twisted her arm behind her and shoved. Rangiku struggled as best she could and only managed to stomp on her assailant's toes. Before Renji or Ikkaku had taken another step, Big Guy roared and pinned Rangiku to the bar, the edge driving into her stomach.

Rangiku gasped, her free hand groping for something, anything she could use. She stilled when the smaller man sidled up to her, his hand reaching for her face.

That was when Renji punched him.

The small man staggered backward, hands flying to his now-bleeding nose. Rangiku seized the opportunity and reared back against Big Guy, who looked suddenly alarmed to have his hands full of wildly flailing woman. Rangiku was screeching, shoving against the bar, and kicking for all she was worth. When Big Guy's grip loosened, she turned, fist pulled back.

Ikkaku chose that moment to dive into the fight; he tackled Big Guy, and Rangiku's angry cursing turned into a yelp as she went down with them. Someone's elbow – she didn't know whose; for all the tangle they went down in, it could have been her own – found her gut and, between the abuse to her stomach and the table they crashed into, catching her breath was a hopeless cause. She barely registered the angry shouts from the table's occupants, or the fact that Ikkaku's little social group suddenly had two or three extra people; Rangiku was intent on getting out. That meant, of course, getting off the floor.

She scrabbled for purchase, and yanked as soon as her hand closed around something. Too late she realized it was an ankle… and a slim, smooth one at that. Renji's dark-haired girl pitched backward, landing gracelessly in the pile. Rangiku watched for a moment – hovering somewhere between mortification and amusement – as the girl slapped and screamed before she turned away. Rangiku crawled clear, and lurched to her feet. She resorted to yanking the hem of her coat from some man's hands, then straightened her shirt, frowning. It had been low cut before, but with that tear… She sighed, resigning herself to giving the men a free show and turned to find her "boys".

Boys they were. Ikkaku was grinning crazily as he blocked a punch and whooped in victory when he retaliated with an uppercut that had Rangiku wincing. Renji was grabbling with the smaller guy, who'd managed to land a few hits, if the redness under Renji's eye was any indication.

"Some friends."

Rangiku started at the weary voice next to her, then turned a lopsided smile to the barkeep. "You wouldn't want them, would you?"

He shot her a look that had her hard-pressed to swallow her laughter. When he turned a forlorn gaze on the mess that was his bar, she sobered. "If this isn't stopped in a minute's time, I'm calling in help. Then your group's leaving."

Rangiku nodded, then cupped her hands around her lips. "Drop 'em, boys!"

Ikkaku shrugged; Big Guy was already down, and anyone else who looked angry was having second thoughts about attacking him. He grinned as he caught sight of Renji ducking a wild swing. "Need help, Boss?"

Renji ignored him, danced backward a few steps, grabbed a chair and swung. There wasn't a sound after his opponent slid to the floor. Renji looked up at Rangiku, chair still held tightly.

"We need to go," she said quietly, motioning to the barkeep next to her, whose tired gaze had sharpened into something more calculating.

"Don't come back," he said, his eyes never leaving Renji.

Rangiku motioned Ikkaku out the door, grabbed Renji by the arm. "We won't," she assured him.

"I don't know who you are-"

"Just couriers," Rangiku interrupted. "That's all. Couriers passing through."

"-but I don't want to see you again," he finished as if Rangiku hadn't spoken.

"Yamamoto Shipping, Hitsugaya," Renji called as he shoved Ikkaku out the door. "Send the bill there." He ushered Rangiku past him, flipped a casual salute and closed the door behind him. He paused, hand still on the knob and shook his head. "How many bars is that?"

"In the last month or altogether?" Rangiku asked.

His answer was a grunt. "It's your fault."

"Yeah, you're too damn pretty."

Rangiku's sharp gaze fell on Ikkaku. "Just because some perverts-"

"-decide to gang up on me …" Ikkaku said. "We know the drill. You get us kicked out of every bar we go to!"

"It hasn't been every one, and I'm not the one tackling people."

Renji held up his hands, speaking over the bickering. "Let's get back to _Lily_. Our help'll be coming soon."

"How soon?"

"Not soon enough," Rangiku muttered as she wrapped her coat tighter around her shoulders. Her eyes widened when she spotted a tear in the shoulder. "Damn it, Ikkaku, you better have that sewing kit handy."

"Sewing kit? Me?" He snorted. "I don't even know where it is."

Rangiku gestured to the tear. "You're the one who tackled me. You're the one who's fixing this."

"Like hell."

Renji shook his head as they kept bickering and then started walking away. By the time they realized he was gone, he'd be back at the ship, and would have that much extra time for peace and quiet.

Behind them, the brightly painted door opened a crack, and the woman watched impassively. A manicured hand rubbed gently against bruises forming on her cheek. A hand wrapped around hers, stilling her movement.

"Simple little couriers, eh?" The voice was smooth, and the woman looked up, a hint of a smile playing on her full lips. The man rubbed the palm of her hand gently. "I want you to follow them, love. See why they're here."

She nodded. He glanced out the door before closing it, and then pulled her close. "And see what they're carrying. I need to make sure."

"I will," she promised softly.

"Good." He pushed her away swiftly, but with care. "Go."

She never hesitated, and he found himself smiling as she slipped out the door.

_**Tbc…**_

_Author's Notes: Yes, Kel succumbed to the temptation to write an AU, and make it AU she certainly did. Spacepirate!Renji? Yeah, really. For faster – but smaller – updates and more information about the storyline itself,, you can visit this story's archive on Livejournal, in the community lift(underscore)the(underscore)limit. _

_Thanks for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Limitless**_

_Chapter Two_

_by Kel_

_A Bleach Alternate Universe fanfiction_

_Rating: T for violence, some suggestive themes_

_Disclaimers: Kubo Tite's the genius behind the characters. Some elements closely resemble those of Joss Whedon's Firefly/Serenity series. I think I lifted a few things from George Lucas, too. Anyway… not all of this is mine._

_Summary: In the future, the Core and the Colonies are butting heads, wreaking havoc on the shipping trade. Couriers between the worlds are hard pressed to find work, and a when small group of people find themselves caught in the middle, they'll also find that saving themselves won't be enough._

_Additional Notes located after the chapter.

* * *

_

It was only mid-morning, and already Chad Yasutora was having a busy day. He knew when he got this job at the District Employment Agency that he'd be in for long days, working with demanding and sometimes downright disturbing people. Then again, he'd been on the other side of the counter before, and knew exactly how frustrating it could be to muddle through the paperwork.

It was especially busy today. The dozens of people had piled up, and all semblance of order had long gone by the wayside. There were no longer lines in front of the counters; just a mass of people, all talking. Some complaining. Some on their comms. Some yelling. Chad tore his gaze from the milling crowd and refocused on the idiot he had been trying to ignore. The man was about his own age, light eyes narrowed in anger and long hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Chad knew without looking that Geoff's hands were clenched into fists and he was practically on his toes; Geoff had been in the agency often enough Chad no longer had to look at his file.

"Now, come on! You have got to have something, Yasutora!"

Chad straightened slowly, eyes narrowed under dark waves of hair. He towered over the counter, and towered over the boy yelling at him. "I told you," he said softly. "I've got nothing else."

"Yeah, right. The rest of these losers are gonna get something, aren't they?" The boy through his hands in the air, and gestured to dozens of people milling around the lobby. "Gimme a break."

"I have, Geoff," he pointed out, his tone still mild.

Geoff leaned forward, idly scratching underneath his ponytail. "Look, bro, I need a job."

"Then you shouldn't walk out on what I find for you." Chad started rummaging under the counter, pulling out a stack of files and setting them to the side.

Geoff slammed his hands on the counter, upsetting the stack of files. "I'm telling ya, Yasutora, if you don't hook me up somehow…"

Chad only raised an eyebrow, righted the files, and then looked over Geoff's head. "Next."

Geoff raised his fist, scowling. A hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked backward, nearly sending Geoff to the ground.

"You seriously aren't thinking of hitting him, are you?"

Geoff turned, pulling against the hold, and scowled at the young man holding his wrist. "Who the hell are you?" he spat as he shook his wrist for all he was worth. It didn't do any good.

The young man rolled his eyes. "Ichigo. And, seriously, you were going to hit him?" He chucked a thumb at Yasutora. "Cause that's just stupid."

"The bastard won't give me my job!" Geoff abruptly stopped pulling and settled for leveling what was supposed to be a threatening gaze on Chad.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow and dropped Geoff's wrist. "Oi, Chad. What kind of scum you hiring nowadays?"

Chad's response was quick. "Your kind."

Ichigo brightened and turned toward him. "Really? You got something for me?"

"Small delivery job."

Ichigo leaned against the counter, not quite grinning, but not hiding the eagerness. "Do I get to fly?"

Before Chad could answer, an angry voice interrupted. "You have a job for him?" Geoff pointed to Ichigo. "But not for me?"

Chad sighed. "Look, Geoff, you've walked off every job I've offered. I'm not handing you a thing."

Geoff didn't bother answering; instead he stepped close to Ichigo and grabbed the front of his gray jacket, pulling Ichigo a few steps away from the counter. "Back off my job," he growled, jerking Ichigo closer.

Ichigo rolled his eyes again and abruptly raised his knee.

Geoff dropped, whimpering. Ichigo straightened his jacket, stepped over him, and leaned against the counter. "Do I get to fly?" he asked again.

Chad shook his head. "Only if your bike's been outfitted for it. Sorry; this one's just 'cross town."

Ichigo wilted. "Just a delivery?"

Chad handed him an envelope. "It pays."

Ichigo stared at the envelope forlornly. "You ever gonna find me something good?"

"It pays."

"I just want to fly." Ichigo leaned against the counter, staring at a point behind Chad's shoulder. "Feel the thrum of takeoff."

"You want it or not?"

"The push of the engines."

"I can give it back to Geoff."

"The pull off high-speed maneuvers."

"It's a rush job, Ichigo."

"The power…"

Chad shoved the envelope into Ichigo's face. "Stop talking and go."

Ichigo grabbed the envelope, frowning as he opened it. "Yeah, I'm going."

"Come back tomorrow," Chad told him as he stepped back over Geoff's prone – and whimpering – form.

Ichigo waved as he threaded through the crowd toward the door. "Find me something where I can fly."

Chad shook his head and turned his gaze back to Geoff. He pushed up his sleeves; Geoff would need escorted away from the Agency.

* * *

He hated bicycles. Really, seriously, without reservation hated them. To no end. In an age where people gallivanted across the damn galaxy in fast little courier ships, Ichigo was relegated to a bicycle. A two-wheeled monstrosity that required pedaling. Its wheels stayed on the ground. He felt every bump, every jolt, every rock. Puddles splashed on his pants legs. People walked in front of him. There wasn't a break in the crowds, and Ichigo scowled. Flying was so much better. There was room to maneuver in space.

The front wheel of the bike caught suddenly, turning sideways as water splashed up Ichigo's arms. He yelped as the bike slid sideways and put his foot down to catch himself and slid to an awkward stop. Muttering curses not quite under his breath, he jerked the front wheel out of the pothole filled with muddy water. Without looking up, he pedaled forward again, only to be stopped short by a thump and a yelp.

It took him a moment to realize that the young woman standing in the middle of the street was what he'd hit. He rolled his eyes; should've known. Every time he went out on one of these pointless runs, he ran over at least three people. He sighed, one foot on the ground, the other resting on a pedal, and rested his arms on the handlebars. Usually, he didn't run over someone he knew. He looked around nervously; she was starting to draw a crowd. Perfect. Someone would report him back to the agency and it'd be weeks before he got another job, even with Chad's help.

She was waving shyly at him. He groaned. It took a special kind of girl to wave and smile cheerfully at the man who'd just run into her with a bicycle.

And that kind of "specialness" at least deserved acknowledgement. "Inoue," he said, nodding in her direction. "You all right?"

She laughed, waving her hands in front of her ample chest. "Oh, I'm fine." She knocked her fist against her side. "I'm tough, so you didn't do a single bit of damage."

Ichigo smothered a wince; he may not have done any damage but if she hit herself any harder, she'd be sporting bruises. He shook his head; Inoue was far from stupid, but her own brand of naïveté and cheerfulness left most people wondering just how the girl survived from day to day. He blinked, realized she was still looking at him with wide grey eyes, and groaned; she was waiting for him to answer her.

That was the most annoying thing about this girl. She liked conversation. She especially liked conversations that involved flesh-eating robots. Ichigo wasn't sure if he was up to including such things in conversation, so he opted for the easy way out. "Sorry 'bout that, Inoue," he said. Apology first, then a reason to run away. "I'm on a rush schedule, though. Gotta run." Worked every time.

She brightened and pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear. "A job?"

Ichigo grunted.

"Chad have anything else?" she asked, her hands clasped together. Ichigo wondered briefly – again – how she survived. How can anything that looked that innocent possibly make it on one of these colonies? "I could really use some extra." She bit her lip and blushed. "Seems I used up all my peanut butter last time I made my spaghetti sauce and I just don't have enough money to get more."

Ichigo blanched. "Peanut butter?" He blinked. "That's rare enough without using it for… sauce…" He trailed off, closed his eyes. Yeah, he'd been trying to run away. Damn, messed that up.

"So, did Chad tell you if he had anything for a poor girl who needs peanut butter?"

Ichigo shook his head. "Nah, he just handed me this job. You know Chad. Not a big talker."

Inoue smiled brightly. "That doesn't mean he doesn't have anything to say." She shrugged. "He didn't know you'd run into me."

"I didn't know I'd run into you." Ichigo straightened and moved the bike forward a bit. "I gotta run, Inoue. Rush job, like I said."

She winked and waved. "Have fun!"

As he rode off, he afforded her a glance and shook his head as she waltzed in the direction of the agency. Waltzed. Complete with dips and twirls. That girl was going to get herself in a spot one of these days, and damned if he'd be the one who got her out of trouble. He snorted and jumped a curb, unaware he had a follower.

* * *

"Randall Thorpe's disappeared."

Hitsugaya frowned at the older blond man on the screen. "Yes, I've heard."

Urahara Kisuke tapped the screen with a fan. "That's trouble for you, Toushirou."

"You think I don't know that?" Hitsugaya snapped. His hand came down on the leather-bound ledger. That hand fisted and Hitsugaya snorted softly. "I have it well in hand."

"Do you?" Urahara turned to the side and tapped a few times off-screen. "I'm sending you something. You'll find it interesting."

"How interesting?" Hitsugaya leaned back in his chair, eyes seeking the stars outside the office portal.

Urahara laughed and Hitsugaya barely refrained from wincing; the comm transmission gave it a tinny, almost menacing sound. "You've managed to land yourself in trouble, my friend. You've crossed a lot of people lately."

Hitsugaya harrumphed. "I've been minding my own business lately, Urahara. I've done nothing but run a few errands."

"Kisuke, Kisuke. How many times do I need to tell you that, Toushirou?" Urahara shook his head, clucking his tongue. "Listen to me, Mr. Infallible. You are in trouble. I'm trying to help."

Hitsugaya regarded the monitor with a hooded gaze. "Your help always comes with a price, _Kisuke_." He crossed his arms; with Thorpe out of the picture now, though, he couldn't outright dismiss Urahara's offer. Hitsugaya knew good and well that Urahara wouldn't contact him without a damn good reason.

"I'll waive the fee for now, Toushirou."

"How generous." Damn. He'd be owing Urahara and that was worse by far than just paying for the information. There was silence for a moment before Hitsugaya sighed. "All right," he said leaning back a little. "What do you have?"

"Thorpe was connected to the murders in the capital."

Hitsugaya's eyes widened. "If they find his records…"

"You'll be implicated."

Hitsugaya shook his head. "I can get around that. Yamamoto has a lot of pull up there."

Urahara snorted. "The old man might be able to get you out of trouble with the Core, but that's not your only problem." He paused. "You'll owe me for this."

"I don't see I have a choice."

Urahara nodded. "I'm fair, Toushirou."

"Like hell. Tell me what you know."

"The murders, Thorpe's disappearance, the Core heating up… It's all connected to the Montoya family."

Hitsugaya blinked. "What the hell does that have to do with me?"

"You ran a job for them. You're connected to all, and you've the records to prove it. The Core'll come down on you if the Montoyas don't get to you first."

Hitsugaya shook his head. "I don't quite understand."

"That last job," Urahara said. "That one that's landed your crew in Belio? That's the Montoya cargo."

Hitsugaya sat up suddenly. "Its three days late."

"And it'll get later. Someone's going to come looking for it. Whether it's the Core or Montoya…"

"The only difference will be how we die. Shot by Montoya or strung up by the Core."

"Exactly." Urahara smiled grimly. "Look at the information I've given you." He signed off without so much as a goodbye, leaving Hitsugaya to stare blankly at a dark screen for a moment before grabbing the headset on the desk.

"Hanatarou?" He barely waited for Hanatarou to finish his timid reply before he was giving orders. "Start locking down the warehouse. Give me a final inventory in three hours." He didn't listen to a reply before throwing the headset down.

His fist came down on the desktop. After a moment, he activated his screen again. His crew had to know. They _had_ to get out of Belio.

His comm was met with silence. Matsumoto never answered.

He put the call on repeat – a chance, to be sure; it could be traced easily that way and anyone could pick it up – and leaned back in his chair, fingers kneading his forehead. He wasn't sure of his next move, but he'd be damned if he'd just sit and wait for something to happen.

* * *

Nemu knew she was beautiful – the red headed man she had been ordered to follow certainly found her alluring in the Blue Door - and she wasn't against using that beauty to her advantage. She also knew she was quiet and inconspicuous when she needed to be. Nemu never regarded such abilities and beauty with pride; they were simply tools to her. They were the things she needed to accomplish her tasks.

She'd learned early on that if she didn't meet requirements, there were consequences.

The warehouse door loomed in front of her, an open maw in the twilight of Beta-121's white sun. Nemu's sharp gaze pierced the darkness inside, searching for Mayuri – for any sign of life – and found nothing. It didn't mean he wasn't there; Mayuri continually proved himself superior to her senses. She was quiet, her sandaled feet barely kicking up small puffs of dust as she moved, but she knew she could be easily seen. Her short dress was bright red against the darkness, and her pale skin, she knew, would shine in the waning sun like a beacon. She wouldn't enter the warehouse unnoticed. She never did.

One slender hand wrapped around the doorpost as she stepped inside. Her dark eyes were wide, but she noted no movement. Her hand trailing behind her, she moved forward, knowing Mayuri would emerge from the darkness with nary a sound.

He delighted in proving himself better than his protégé. His student would never surpass her teacher. She wasn't sure if she wanted to try; taking orders suited her better than giving them.

Nemu stopped a few feet inside the door, her gaze rising to the offices on the second floor above her. Dim light spilled from a window with half-pulled blinds; she could barely see it glint off the metal catwalks above her. She wondered if Mayuri was working in his office there; sometimes he fled his more luxurious quarters for his small corner in this warehouse.

She wouldn't go up there, though. He had told her to come back to the warehouse with her information. His office may be in the warehouse, but she only did his bidding and no more. Had he wanted her in the office, he would have ordered it. She stood quietly, not moving, breathing softly.

The movement behind her was felt more than seen or heard, and she tensed. Still, she would not move. She knew who stood in the darkness behind her. There was a rustle of cloth, barely heard. He was moving.

"Nemu, darling."

Nemu didn't have time – or the inclination – to turn around before he was behind her, wrapping strong arms around her. She made herself relax, only marginally. He'd taught her to be ever wary.

"Ah, good," he whispered, warm breath stirring the wisps of hair around her ear. His hand flattened across her stomach and the other drifted up to her collarbone. "Report, love."

"It's them," was all she said.

Mayuri chuckled, the sound deep and almost purring. "And the cargo?"

"Intact, in their holds."

"What of their ship?"

"The _Lily_ is damaged, and it is only the three of them."

"Can she fly?"

Nemu considered this for a moment; his palm pressed against her belly, his fingernails digging into the fabric of her dress. "Doubtful," she said finally, her tone unchanged.

He pulled her closer, flush against him. "You've done well." The hand moved from her collar to cup her chin. "Don't move from this spot; I have to set things in motion." As suddenly as he had embraced her, he was gone.

Nemu breathed shallowly, eyes half-closed. She didn't so much as twitch while he was gone.

* * *

"Any idea when our rescuers are gonna show?"

Rangiku shrugged as she followed Renji up the ramp of the _Lily_ and into the cargo bay. "A couple days, at least. We are rather far out."

"You sure he sent the crew?"

Rangiku snorted and shook her head. "C'mon, Renji. This is Shorty we're talking about. He follows through; you know that."

Renji looked up sharply as the loud crash echoed through the cargo bay. He pulled up short, Rangiku running into his back with a muffled curse. "What the hell..."

"What's going on?" Rangiku asked, peering around Renji's shoulder.

Another loud crash rang against the bulkheads, and they could hear Ikkaku cursing. He yelped, and a sound like someone falling reached their ears.

Rangiku narrowed her eyes and glanced at Renji - who was suspiciously stoic; she could practically see him trying to bottle up the confusion - as she heard a chittering. It wasn't long before she could see what was making the sound: it was small, about as long as her forearm from nose to tail, and it ran with a fluid gait. Its mouth was open, displaying small - and undoubtedly sharp - fangs. It ran past them, still chittering, and Rangiku sputtered. "It's a lizard!"

Ikkaku rounded the corner, scratches adorning his cheeks, and looking ready to kill. "It's a damn stowaway."

Rangiku was staring speculatively after the stowaway. "It was blue and scaly."

"Brilliant, Ran. Really. Help me get it off the ship, huh?"

"You worry too much," Rangiku said shortly, waving a hand. She peered past Ikkaku and Renji, trying to get another glimpse of the lizard. "It was cute."

"It was evil," Ikkaku countered. "Tried to kill me."

Rangiku blinked at him. "It… what?"

Renji shook his head and forcibly turned Ikkaku back toward the corridor he'd come running out of. "We have work to do."

Ikkaku, reluctantly moving forward, glanced over his shoulder. "Ah, c'mon, Renji! We need to get rid of that thing."

"It'll probably just leave on its own. And I'm not letting you run amok just to satisfy an urge to kill."

"I'm not that bad!"

Renji shoved Ikkaku forward. "Yes. You are."

Ikkaku shook his head, planted his feet and spun around. "Hey, Ran," he called, ignoring Renji's glare. "You have the nav system up and running?"

Rangiku paused on the stairs to the second-story catwalk. "Mostly. Why? We're not going anywhere."

"Just wanted to put through a couple scenarios."

Renji took hold of Ikkaku's shoulders and spun him back around. "I am not letting you plot our next course."

"Aw, Captain…"

"Asteroid field ring a bell, dumbass?"

"Renji…"

"You finished up that list of damaged systems?"

Ikkaku sighed, shoulders slumping under Renji's hands. "It'd be easier if you wanted a list of the things that still work." He craned his neck, looking over his shoulder. "Cargo bay doors, life support systems and grav plating. That's about it."

"Not the list I asked for." Renji stepped back. "We're that bad?"

Ikkaku couldn't answer; there was a shriek from above and a metallic groaning echoed through the cargo bay. Both men turned, Ikkaku nearly tripping over Renji in his haste. "Ran!?"

When she didn't answer right away, Renji leapt forward, hands curling around the stair rail. Ikkaku was right behind him. "Answer me, Ran," Renji shouted above the sounds of metal creaking. Ikkaku pushed past him when he stopped to peer through smoke. The catwalk – never the most stable part of the ship – seemed to sway precariously as Ikkaku jogged across it. Renji glanced down at the cargo bay floor, blanched, and stepped onto the catwalk. "Rangiku?"

"She's ok."

Ikkaku's voice. Renji looked up to see him settle Rangiku against the railing. "Ran? What happened?"

She turned toward him, and smiled weakly. "Cargo bay doors are shot," she offered with an apologetic shrug. "The control console blew out."

Ikkaku whistled, looking down at the half-open doors. "Damn, Ran. You messed that up."

She leaned over and smacked him on the back of the head. "You're the one who dove into an asteroid field."

Ikkaku scooted out of her reach. "Never gonna let me live that down, huh?"

"No, never," Renji answered distractedly. "You all right, Ran?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Just startled me. Nearly went off the catwalk."

Renji was looking at the doors with a defeated expression. "It won't close?"

"Won't open any more than that either."

Renji hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Rangiku patted his shoulder, smiling all the while. "Hey, our rescuers are on their way."

"They can't get here soon enough," Renji groaned.

"Renji."

"I don't want to hear it, Ikkaku."

"No, seriously, Renji…"

Renji pinned Ikkaku with a murderous gaze. "Shut the hell up." It was only after he'd spoken he noticed the truly alarmed look on the man's face. "What?"

Ikkaku crouched, pointing down towards the doors. "There's someone coming in."

Renji's gaze snapped around to the bay doors while Rangiku crawled up beside him. The pilot was right; he could see a shadow slip underneath the half-open doors. Before long, another joined the first. "Ikkaku, the emitters..."

"On it," he answered, slipping quietly past his crewmates and slinking down the stairs without a sound.

Renji watched him as he slipped from the cargo bay before facing Rangiku. "You have a stash up here?"

She gave him a withering look. "I have a stash everywhere, Renji." She nodded past the burned out console. "There's a storage locker at the end of this catwalk. Three blasters."

Renji rolled his eyes. "They're not blasters."

"It sounds better that DEWs." She curled her lip. "Dew is… pretty. Blasters shoot things. Dew glistens in morning sun."

"Just lead the way." Rangiku turned on her heel and, staying low, scuttled across the catwalk. Renji followed close behind, tracking movement as best he could just outside the doors. He could see a hand curl around the edge of one of the doors, and the muzzle of a rifle edged into the opening. "Hurry."

Rangiku did, and, in her haste, knocked against the console. Her toolbox slid across the top and Rangiku dove for it.

Renji watched in mute horror as it slipped through her fingers and fell over the edge. The clatter as it hit the floor below seemed deafening. He met Rangiku's wide-eyed gaze and shooed her forward.

That's when the shooting started.

A blue stream of light cut through the topmost railing just behind Renji. Rangiku stopped and turned, looking past him. "I think they found us."

"And I don't think they mean well," Renji snapped. "Move!"

To her credit, she did. Not caring whether they saw her or not, she scrambled forward quickly, keeping as low as she could. When she reached the locker, she threw it open and reached inside with a haste that left her feeling clumsy. With one rifle in each hand, she turned to hand one off to Renji.

She turned in time to see him stumble. As he caught himself on the railing, he faltered.

It was just long enough for their intruders to draw a bead on him.

Harsh blue light hit him in the side and he froze, eyes wide. He pitched forward and Rangiku dropped the weapons as she dove toward him. Her hands caught the back of his shirt as he leaned precariously over the edge, and she pulled for all she was worth.

Shots hit the wall behind her, the floor near her feet, the heat from the energy burning her hair.

She held onto Renji with one hand, barely noting his tightly closed eyes and rigid posture, and reached behind her. Her hand brushed against the third rifle and she snagged it. Without aiming – almost without looking – she pointed the muzzle toward the doors and fired shot after shot.

Rangiku's hand fisted in Renji's shirt. "Hurry," she urged Ikkaku. "Please hurry."

* * *

Ikkaku slipped through the corridors, heading toward the command deck and the console that housed Ran's modifications. The _Lily_ was dark, darker than she should have been and Ikkaku frowned at the light fixtures overhead. They shouldn't be off; the _Lily_'s environmental systems were set on a cyclical pattern, and she should still be in "day" mode. Ikkaku slowed his pace, looking ahead of him more intently. The environmental systems had not been damaged. The lights had been tampered with.

That more than likely meant there were more intruders on board than just those trying to come in the cargo bay; they could have slipped in through the starboard shuttle port or anyone of the small airlocks on the ship's exterior.

That theory was proved right on target when Ikkaku rounded a corner and was nearly mowed down by several blue bursts of light.

He backpedaled, arms pinwheeling, and managed to dive into an alcove to his left. With a loud curse – and not caring that whoever was out there might hear him – he pounded his fist against a panel. When it popped open, he practically tore it from the bulkhead.

Once upon a time, he almost thought Ran had gone overboard with her "stashes" throughout the ship. Rangiku was the definition of paranoid; when she'd come aboard, she had spent weeks adding and modifying systems, and stashing weapons throughout the _Lily_. Never mind he much preferred a good fist fight, but weapons did have their place, and their place was in his hands when the bad guys were shooting at him. He grinned as he pulled one of Ran's "blasters" from the hollowed-out space behind the panel. Bless the woman and her paranoid tendencies. He spun around, muzzle of the weapon peering around the corner, and almost laughed aloud. It had been too long… wait… he'd took out a few people at the bar.

Ok, so, it hadn't been too long since his last fight, but it had been too long since his last firefight.

Not that he particularly enjoyed weapons. Hand to hand was much nicer.

Renji would have his head if he skipped right past introductions, too, if only because it's what Shorty insisted upon. "What the hell do you want?" Ikkaku shouted down the hall. "Don't matter if you answer or not, I'm still gonna shoot ya'."

Much better. Renji couldn't whine now.

And the shooting still didn't stop. Of course not. Ikkaku snorted; introducing oneself never, never prompted the other guy to just give up politely. With a grin – oh, he was loving this – he reached back into the hollow space and fished around for a moment. When he fingers brushed smooth metal, he pulled it out with a flourish. Ran-chan deserved something nice, he decided as he held up the smaller pistol. It didn't pack as much punch as the rifle, that was for sure, but Ikkaku wasn't about to dive into this with either hand empty.

With an almost manic howl, Ikkaku lunged into the hallway, both guns blazing. Damned if he were going to let some bastards with guns keep standing between him and the damn buttons he needed to push.

* * *

Rangiku kept shooting, not bothering to aim at all. She was crouched on the catwalk, Renji's head and shoulders resting awkwardly in her lap, and the muzzle of her DEW rifle was braced against the railing. It skittered back and forth with every one-handed shot, but Ran was not about to let go of Renji to brace it. All she was doing anyway was buying time until Ikkaku got to the command deck.

And she wanted her fingers pressed against Renji's neck. The reassurance of his pulse beating there was enough to keep her focused. Damn, damn and damn. They carried a variation of the DEW; one Rangiku knew well. Too well. She'd helped design it. She hated the irony, but appreciated that these guys knew a good weapon when they saw it.

Especially a good non-lethal weapon. Renji would be all right, given a few days. He'd just taken quite the shock.

That didn't mean, however, she was going to just roll over and play dead.

"Hurry up, you bald freak," she muttered as she pulled back under an intense barrage. Her hands came up to cover her head and she winced against the smell of charred hair.

If these bastards made her have to cut her hair…

The muzzle of her DEW swung around and she fired off a few more rounds before checking the energy level. Low. Too low. She frowned; Ikkaku had better hurry. If she ran out of charge, it was one thing, but if the intruders did, it would ruin everything. The pulse she rigged depended upon the weapons having some energy left.

No sooner than she'd thought about it, a tell-tale low whine rang through cargo bay and Rangiku was dropping her weapon to the floor even as blue lights set into the bay walls flashed twice in quick succession. The whine reached a higher pitch and Rangiku, despite everything, grinned as she gathered Renji as close as she could. Her warning system was working perfectly; she'd would have loved the chance to test this, but hadn't had the opportunity as of yet.

She'd have to buy Ikkaku a round or three for being this quick.

She closed her eyes against the bright flash of light from the deck floor below her, and hunched protectively over Renji. Screams rose into the air, all cut short with a percussive blast as every directed energy weapon responded to the pulse. Rangiku waited for the noise to die, listening for any sign of an intruder escaping the blast. Slowly – and with a tinge of regret and concern – she let go of Renji and peered over the edge of the walkway.

Focused lateral explosions were a wonderful thing. Her _Lily_ was also a beautiful, specifically modified ship. Thank God for paranoid bosses and degrees in engineering.

Every active DEW in the cargo bay had just exploded, thanks to pulse emitters she'd rigged throughout the ship for just such an occasion.

Almost every DEW in the cargo bay had been in the hands of an intruder.

Rangiku grimaced at the bodies that littered the bay floor; that was why she'd left weapons designing and went into cargo running. Some things, she supposed, were just unavoidable when idiots started shooting. She had never liked it, not like some in her first chosen field.

A blinking light caught her eye and she sighed as she reached for the 'com on the wall. "Yeah?"

"You all right?"

Rangiku sighed at Ikkaku's question. She knew too well there were other concerns veiled behind his question: Renji, her, the ship... everything. "We're good," she replied. "Renji's gonna be good." A hint of a smile played at her lips; Renji would also be a pain in the ass once he woke up and discovered he'd missed all the action. "You?"

"Fine. Wasn't nearly enough fun." He snorted. "Shorty's been tryin' to call. Message says it's urgent."

Rangiku frowned. "Wonder if he knew something."

"He'd have told us, wouldn't he?"

She shook her head, sighing. "Not if he just found something." She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them to look down at the half-open bay doors. This would be… tricky. "We have to move, Madarame, and reset the emitters." Hell if they were going to be boarded again; she'd have traps set for anyone who set foot on this ship without her express permission.

"I'm already working on it, Ran."

"Good man." She sighed again. Good man, indeed. "Call Shorty. Tell him what's happening."

"Working on that, too."

"Oh." It was all she could think to say. "Uh… help me get Renji off the catwalk?"

Ikkaku laughed at that, and she couldn't help but chuckle. He'd rub it in hard that Renji had to be carried from a fight. They'd be impossible to live with. But they'd be living. That was a start, at least.

* * *

_Tbc…_

_Do let me know what you think, yes?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Limitless**

_Chapter Three_

_by Kel_

_A Bleach Alternate Universe fanfiction_

_Rating: T for violence, some suggestive themes_

_Disclaimers: Kubo Tite's the genius behind the characters. Some elements closely resemble those of Joss Whedon's Firefly/Serenity series. I think I lifted a few things from George Lucas, too. Anyway… not all of this is mine._

_Summary: In the future, the Core and the Colonies are butting heads, wreaking havoc on the shipping trade. Couriers between the worlds are hard pressed to find work, and a when small group of people find themselves caught in the middle, they'll also find that saving themselves won't be enough._

_Additional Notes located after the chapter._

* * *

Hitsugaya hated delivery days; it meant paperwork piled upon paperwork, Hanatarou always had a minor breakdown, Iba - his head of security and jack-of-all-trades - breathing down the necks of already stressed workers and... Why was he unable to hire people who just did their job without drama? He'd come down to the warehouse for a bit of a spot inspection today; with the threat of both the Core and the Montoyas coming down on him, he needed to see first-hand how his people were making out.

Too bad he was a failure when it came to hiring competent people. There was so much chaos...

He gave himself two minutes before he just took over and either forcibly straightened people out or fired them. The worst part was, none of them, aside from Hanatarou and Iba, knew anything about the complications; the rest of the crew only had heard, second- and third-hand, that there were complications. The biggest rumor flying around was that Hitsugaya was revamping the place entirely and half the workers would be fired. (Half of them seemed to welcome that news; the biggest drawback about this job was manning a warehouse on an atmosphere-less planetoid.) Despite all the sundry rumors flying around - up to and including Hitsugaya was running off with an old girlfriend and therefore this branch of Yamamoto Shipping was shutting down - not one of them had hit upon the real reasons for the tension and the sudden and thorough inventory inspections. No one had even whispered that their boss was on a mob hitlist or the Core's Most Wanted list.

He was rather surprised by that, considering the news of Thorpe's disappearance and the fall of TEI. These guys knew how much business they did with that company.

He sighed and left the workers to their own devices; they knew what they were doing and it wasn't as if they really needed to boss's supervision to unload a docked ship. (They'd have to load a few things for the orbital in his shuttle; he'd take that up himself.) Hanatarou should have his reports ready from the inventory inspection.

After Hanatarou had reported all the crates accounted for, and Hitsugaya's ledger still disagreed, he had asked for a more thorough inspection.

One that included opening the crates and Hanatarou had called - uncharacteristically serious - and asked to see him in person. That was enough of a change from Hanatarou's regular meek demeanor that he'd dropped everything and come down on a delivery day.

Delivery days were too noisy, with too many people running around and way too much happening for him to be comfortable. It was nice, in that it was tangible evidence of his branch of the company still going and still making it. He just wished he didn't have to deal with it. But when Hanatarou's timidity gave way to a serious young man who actually seemed to know what he was doing, it was time to face the music.

Or, in this case, the noise and activity.

He caught Hanatarou as the young man was coming out of the warehouse office, clipboard in hand. Hanatarou, though, was looking at the floor, not paying anyone around him a whit of attention and instead focusing solely on the clipboard in front of him. Hitsugaya hailed him, blinking in surprise as Hanatarou stumbled and looked up, wide-eyed.

What? He'd been the one to call the meeting. Why was he surprised by Hitsugaya actually being there? He rolled his eyes and shuffled Hanatarou - who didn't protest one bit - back into the office.

"H...hitsu..." Hanatarou took a breath, planted himself behind the desk and tried again. And kept stuttering.

Hitsugaya dearly wanted to smack him with that clipboard. "Hitsugaya," he said dryly. "And, yes?"

Hanatarou blinked and held up the clipboard after taking a deep breath. "I, uh... I... It's a... uhm..."

"My report."

"Yes, sir."

Hitsugaya waited for him to keep going. When it became apparent Hanatarou was more than a little lost, he sighed. "And?" He entertained the thought of snatching the clipboard away and reading if for himself, but Hanatarou's little nervous fit would never end that way.

Hanatarou took another breath, stumbled over an apology - not needed, in Hitsugaya's opinion; just getting to it would be enough - and dove into his explanation. "We have stuff."

That was his explanation? Hitsugaya blinked at him. "We're a warehouse." Of course they had "stuff".

Hanatarou winced, then pointed at the clipboard. "We have stuff we shouldn't. A lot of it."

Now, that was a revelation. Hitsugaya wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but it couldn't be good. He ran an ordered branch, took pride in the fact that his part of Yamamoto Shipping was spotless, ordered, and rarely disorganized. Even if most of the reason he insisted on such meticulous record-keeping was to keep his own nose clean with Yamamoto - thanks to his extracurricular runs - the result was that his division ran smoothly. There just shouldn't be anything more or less than what was on inventory. He furrowed his brow and held his hand out. Hanatarou handed him the clipboard without a word, but kept talking.

"You were right when you did the monthly report," Hanatarou said, his nervous habits dying as he slipped further into his report. "We're several crates short of what we should have."

Hitsugaya glanced up from his perusal of the clipboard. "How does several crates short equate to having stuff we shouldn't?"

Hanatarou hesitated. "Because we also don't have stuff we ordered."

"What?" Hitsugaya leveled the clipboard toward him; he was not in a mood to deal with such round-and-round. "Start making sense or start packing."

The warehouse manager gulped and wilted under Hitsugaya's stare. "We get deliveries from Yamamoto..."

"I know that," Hitsugaya snapped. He ran the damn branch; he didn't need a lesson in the basics. Yamamoto sent them regular supplies, some product for regular deliveries, and whatever parts he'd ordered to keep this place running. (That's how it was supposed to work at any rate.)

Hanatarou took a step back. "What the packing sheet says and what's actually in the box are totally different," he blurted, looking for all the world like he was about to take a punch... or worse.

Hitsugaya blinked and lowered the clipboard. How different? He'd seen mistakes before; they always annoyed the hell out of him, when a packing list was wrong, but it was more common than he would have liked. Judging by Hanatarou's reaction, though, this was more than simple clerical error. "Keep going."

"I opened up a shipping crate - one of the big ones - that was supposed to be monthly supplies for the orbital - stuff for maintenance, you know? It was half-rotted fruit. There was another crate marked at those decking plates you ordered for the Lily and it was raw silk. I found more of the silk when I went to the galley; their supplies - their food - was nothing more than that silk."

"Are you sure it's nothing more than a stupid error?" He didn't believe in coincidence, but every avenue had to be pursued.

"Maybe," Hanatarou said with a small worried shrug. "If it were just these things, but it's happening all over our warehouse. Stuff we haven't touched in months - weren't supposed to or didn't need to - is being opened and it's not what it's supposed to be. And," he said, pointing to the clipboard, "that raw silk? I traced it. It was supposed to be sent to Kuchiki's division; it's a delivery he's supposed to send out in a week's time."

Silence reigned for a few moments as Hitsugaya took that in. He was... Well, he was confused. How did someone mess up on that magnitude? "How far back does this go?"

Hanatarou shrugged, still looking like he was waiting for a smack upside the head. "We've opened crates as old as three months and found something unexpected inside. Remember those anti-grav handtrucks you ordered for the Lily and then Abarai took off without loading the crate?"

He was waiting for confirmation; why, Hitsugaya wasn't sure. Of course he remembered. The crate had been left behind by accident, and then shuffled off into a corner, to wait for the Lily's return. That had been two weeks ago. He nodded slowly, not sure he'd like where Hanatarou was going with this.

"It was filled to the brim with DEWs."

That had Hitsugaya stopping short. He blinked at Hanatarou. "My gravs were DEWs?" All hope that this was a simple clerical error fled in light of that revelation. No one just misplaced weapons. Not when the Core and colonies were at each others throats. Not only was he close to being arrested and already on the bad side of the mob, but he was apparently running weapons. Were he a lesser man, he might have beat himself with the clipboard.

Kuchiki might know something. If he didn't, then he should, considering Hitsugaya had his next shipment sitting in the wrong warehouse. He tucked the clipboard under his arm and left the office, Hanatarou on his heels. "Load up my transport." He'd much rather deal with all this in his office, in the quiet, than be constantly annoyed by the noise down here. "I want every crate checked, coming in and going out. No more surprises."

"Yes, sir," Hanatarou responded and, for once, he actually sounded competent. He was probably just afraid of what Hitsugaya would have Iba do to him if he didn't do exactly what he was told. "What about the stuff we've already got?"

What indeed? Hitsugaya was almost at a loss on this one. He couldn't just send it back to Yamamoto's main branch or start sounding alarms. If all this had some malicious roots - of which he wasn't sure, but he was paranoid - he wasn't about to draw even more attention to himself. It was just a little too coincidental it came now, of all times. "Gather it together, put it in a corner, and keep track of what we've got. Got that?" He needed absolutely meticulous records.

"Yes, sir."

Hitsugaya paused long enough for Hanatarou to brush past him with a nod and a half-bow before issuing stuttered orders to a floor manager. He watched, not really seeing Hanatarou actually keeping things well in hand. DEWs. Kuchiki's silk. Shorted on supplies.

It had to be connected to Montoya and Thorpe. Paranoia aside, nothing was this damned coincidental.

* * *

Hitsugaya had a small crew of workers - mostly administrative types - who staffed the orbital and he set them to work unloading and putting away the supplies he'd brought up on the transport. Usually, he'd pitch in and help himself. It not only gave him something to do, but it got the idiot work of putting things away done faster. (Something about the boss doing manual labor just motivated the workers, he'd discovered.) This time, though, he fled the transport as quickly as he could. He needed to call Kuchiki and look up a few other things.

His ledger was going to be getting a lot of use. He'd really like to rub it in Shunsui's face right about now. (Except... not really. There came a point where gloating just wasn't worth the trouble. Inadvertent weapons running was definitely not worth the trouble.)

He'd just gotten into his office, not bothering with closing the door. Who cared anymore if someone overheard him trying to figure all this out? Maybe they'd have ideas he hadn't thought of yet. The ledger was still on his desk, a victim of his earlier absentmindedness; he'd forgotten to place it in its drawer. He shook his head; that was unlike him. At any rate, he'd need it later.

First, Kuchiki. He flipped the screen up, brow furrowing at the blinking red light. Of course he'd missed a call; he always did when he went down to the warehouse. There was supposed to be an automatic forwarding system in place but it either hadn't worked or no one in Hanatarou's offices had bothered to pick up the boss's personal line. He checked the ID, out of habit, and frowned. Urahara. And Urahara calling meant business. Probably meant trouble, especially on Urahara's secure line. (That man was more paranoid that Hitsugaya. Quite a feat.) He pushed the message button, frown only deepening as the recorded message filled the screen.

Urahara looked serious, hands folded on the desk in front of him, and that was enough to send Hitsugaya's concern straight into panic. He never looked that serious.

_Short and simple_, Urahara said. _Not so sweet. Your relief ship's off the grid_. The message blinked off, leaving Hitsugaya gaping at the screen and hoping to hell he had not heard that right.

His relief ship was gone? He didn't have to go looking to see which one Urahara was talking about; he only had one out at the moment. He'd sent them out as soon as Matsumoto had called for a repair crew. He hadn't heard from any of them since, and the Lily hadn't answered a single one of his calls. That was worrisome in itself, but not uncommon. If the ship was in as bad a shape as Matsumoto had said, it wouldn't be surprising if the comm system went down. Hell, they could have been all out getting drunk; he would have believed that in a second.

But with the relief ship "off the grid" - which meant things Hitsugaya didn't want to think about - that added a whole new dimension to the Lily's silence.

He sat heavily. He'd have to arrange a rescue ship, find out just how "off the grid" the ship was - Urahara didn't mess around, in spite of his playful façade - and... Hell, and contact families. That ship was gone. Gone.. A victim of either Core or mob or anything in between.

He suddenly sat up straight. Oh, _shit. _That was not good. He couldn't approach this in any way similar to how he'd approach a regular industrial accident. Not when the removal of one his ships meant that this nebulous threat on the horizon was suddenly here, tangible and all too real. He still didn't know who, but he knew enough to know he had to move and do it now. He had the headset in his hand and clicked on, barking orders to Hanatarou (who, again, seemed to take it in stride). His people were being targeted; all he could do now for them was remove them from the playing field.

A few quick words and Hanatarou and Iba were shutting down operation planetside.

Step one was done. He didn't waste any time erasing Urahara's message - he was not leaving any sort of evidence readily accessible. He knew he'd have to do a complete wipe of his hard drive to completely get rid of the thing, but for now, simply erasing it from the message folder would work. He opened up a comm link, hesitating for just a moment as he recalled Kuchiki's frequency. He opened the line, ready to record a message when Byakuya didn't immediately answer, but the (too familiar) sound of crashing crates and a scream from down the hall threw him off.

His hand slapped the desk and he was on his feet in seconds, not bothering to close the open link. He paused just outside the doorway and sighed, relief and frustration escaping in equal parts. It really was beyond him to hire competent people. Now he had klutzes working for him, if the broken crate and worker picking himself up off the floor a few meters down the hall was anything to go by. Apparently, even unloading a few crates was beyond them. "All right?" he called.

There was an answering "yes, sir" which was enough to pacify Hitsugaya; he'd let them clean up their own mess and he'd go back to getting a message to Kuchiki. (As it stood, that open comm link would certainly send Kuchiki an interesting blank message.) He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to duck back into his office.

Maybe this time he'd close the door.

A low whine - barely audible - reached him and he half-turned back toward the hallway, hand dropping from his face.

What the hell was that sound?

He wasn't sure what was first: the bright flash of light or the sound, but he did remember the absolute terror that was all too evident on the faces of the three men in the hallway in the moment before the blast. Then, they were lost to his sight; in fact, he barely had time to register he was actually seeing them before he was knocked off his feet by a wave of sound and heat. His back connected with the desk and he slid to the floor, arms already up to protect his head. From what, he wasn't entirely sure; the blast was overwhelming, sounds and sights inundating his senses.

The sound of metal groaning briefly overrode the crackling of flames, the alarm klaxons. Hitsugaya shook his head, gritting his teeth against the twinges of pain in his back and shoulders. He got his hands under his shoulders and pushed up, gaining his feet in an unsteady lurch and waving smoke away from his face. A futile gesture, that. There was so much smoke in the air that there was no waving it away. He chanced a look into the hallway and tore his gaze away almost as soon as he saw what was there. His people may have been incompetent but... to be burned...

He shook his head harshly. Best not to dwell on it now. Now, he was going to get this under control and then find out who the hell had caused this. That it could be accidental never crossed his mind. Not after everything else.

Metal creaked loudly, and several crashes echoed through the hallway as debris shifted and fell. Hitsugaya was just getting his feet under him, amazed but not really dwelling on the fact that he had managed that with only a few bruises, as far as he could tell, when another explosion - further off this time - sounded and the floor shifted underneath his feet. He stumbled and fell sideways, landing awkwardly and eyes widening at the sudden sounds of cracking above him.

He tried to scramble out of the way, all too aware that if he was caught in the debris, he'd go down with this ship. He moved too late, though, and a large piece of the ceiling - burning and jagged - came down on his back. He hissed, screwing his eyes shut as the heavy piece of debris forced him back to the floor in an ungainly heap. White-hot pain flared across his back, his shoulders, but he didn't have time to dwell on it.

Had to get out. Had to get his people out. Hell, had to hope they actually stuck to their emergency plans when the klaxons sounded.

He got one hand under him and he pushed up, catching his breath as his knee folded under him. Cursing the debris under his breath, he twisted as best he could. He'd shove the thing off him, jagged edges and flames be damned.

He never got that far; another piece broke free and he didn't even have time to throw an arm up to protect himself. A ragged edge tore into his temple, driving the side of his head into the floor with enough force that he never felt the pain.

* * *

Hitsugaya didn't remember what had happened when he woke up, blinking slowly against the smoke in his eyes. His head was heavy - too heavy - and he wasn't sure what was worse: the throbbing in his head or the sticky warm blood clinging to the side of his face. He groaned, closing his eyes and deciding not to try to figure out the flickering shadows and the smoke heavy in the air.

Or the deck shaking beneath him.

That wasn't good. Even with his head throbbing, he could figure out that wasn't good. He opened his eyes again, brow furrowing as he tried to figure out what the hell had happened. He got a hand under him, pushing up and hissing as something pulled across his shoulders. Whatever the hell had happened, it had hurt. A lot.

And it was still draped across his back.

He took a deep breath and promptly choked on the smoke. He grit his teeth, stalwartly ignoring both the throbbing in his head and the stinging on his back, and pushed to his hands and knees. A thin slab of debris - a piece of the ceiling? - clattered to the floor, but the sound was lost amidst the shuddering of straining metal.

He blinked at the floor, tying to decide if the motion he was seeing was his vision reeling or the floor actually moving. Either way, it was not good. Even worse would be staying on the floor, waiting for the orbital to fall apart. He may live in space, but he certainly wasn't keen on dying in space.

Just had to move.

Hitsugaya sighed and blinked a few more times. He managed to kneel, one hand cradling his head and the other braced against the wall. His hand slipped on the wall; had he hurt his hand or was that blood or grease or something from somewhere else? Ultimately, it didn't matter, he decided. He'd deal with it all later, after he was safe. Safer. (Maybe this was the safest he was going to get.) To his feet; that was the plan. Get to his feet and then he could figure out his next step. He pressed his hand against the open wound - still bleeding - on his temple.

Still bleeding. It hadn't been that long, then, since... whatever... had happened. Something big, something not good, and something... really not good. He screwed his eyes shut; his vision was swimming. He remembered the crates and Hanatarou giving him the lowdown on the messed up product. Then, he came back to the orbital. And... well, he was on the orbital and it was burning, groaning, shuddering, and probably damned close to falling out of orbit.

Which, of course, meant he needed to get off the thing. That meant getting to his feet. Good first step, that. He stumbled to his feet, hand still pressed against his head. The floor was still shaking and he stumbled sideways.

And nearly blacked out again when pain flared in his knee. He fell, curling in on himself in a last ditch attempt to protect his head - nearly incapacitated by pain or not, he was aware enough to know he did not want to hit his head again. He clenched his jaw, closed his eyes tightly; the sudden movement did wonders for his head. He swallowed back bile.

What the hell? When had he hurt his knee?

He took a few deeps breaths, coughing on smoke, and hand patting the floor almost absentmindedly. There should be something he could use to brace himself; he had to move. (As much as he doubted his ability to move, he had to try; he had to move.) The back of his hand hit a hard edge and he blinked, craning his neck to look behind him. His desk. All right; he could use his desk. It was closer than the wall. He rolled toward it, carefully not moving his knee or jarring his head, and wincing in spite of himself when his back came in contact with the floor.

Ignore that; he had to ignore that. It took some doing - and movement in which Hitsugaya was quite sure he was just going to black out again - but he managed to climb to his knees. (Or, well, knee, in point of fact. He kept a good deal of weight off his right.) Hands came down on top of the desk and he pushed. He ended up leaning almost completely over the desk.

But he was standing.

Hitsugaya breathed as deeply as he dared, hoping to stave off the bile rising in his throat without breathing in too much smoke. He closed his eyes, as much to try to center himself as to keep from seeing the surface of the desk undulate in his reeling vision. The sounds around him inundated him, threatening, and spurring him into something akin to panic.

Creaking, groaning, flames crackling, debris crashing, static... a small voice... He blinked. Static?

_Hitsugaya?_ The voice was tinny, broken by static, but it was there. He wasn't hearing things. He dared take weight off his left hand to snag the headset.

He had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. "Hanatarou?" He knew he sounded bad even before Hanatarou's indrawn breath, clear enough even in the static, told him so. He wanted to tell him to simply get down to business and leave the concern behind, but he refrained. (Whether out of an exhaustion and weariness suddenly bone deep or not, he couldn't be sure.)

_You all right, sir?_

Good question. Hitsugaya avoided it entirely. "The warehouse."

There was a pause in which Hitsugaya was certain Hanatarou would call him on avoiding the question. _We're fine_. Another pause, then Hanatarou spoke again. _We found the bomb; Iba disarmed it before it went off._

A bomb. Hitsugaya blinked and cursed under his breath. That certainly explained a few things.

Hanatarou cleared his throat. _There's a ship approaching; they transmitted a demand to see you._

Of course they did. Hitsugaya was silent.

_But of course they can't_, Hanatarou continued and Hitsugaya furrowed his brows._ Can't quite see a dead man, burned beyond recognition in an explosion_.

"Hanatarou..."

_If you leave in the next ten minutes, you should be able to slip out before they can pick up a transport on their sensors._

He shook his head slowly. "Get out of there."

_Already working on that_. That was Iba, coming through loud and clear through the static. _We got it. And you're a dead man. No Core or Montoya ship's gonna interview a dead man_.

He nodded slowly, not quite realizing the futility of the gesture. "I'll contact you. Site B." He thumbed the switch, cutting communication. Site B was nothing more than a rendezvous site, in the Gamma system, in an out of the way town. It had been set up when he'd taken over this branch, just in case they ever needed a quick and easy way to meet. It worked for emergencies just as well.

He put down the headset, fingers brushing against the ledger. He glanced at it, then at the small fires spread across the far side of his office. He grabbed it, tossed it into the flames.

Dead men didn't need to keep any records either.

Ten minutes. He could leave the system in ten minutes.

Maybe. If he could get to the escape pod. He groped for the wall, hobbling - almost hopping, just to keep some weight off his knee - toward the office door. He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed; this would only work if the transport was flyable.

He was as quick as he able to be, leaning against the wall and hobbling, his balance precarious. Bile rose in his throat again as he picked his way through the hallway near the transport. Bodies burned, twisted horribly, lay there. His people. His responsibility. There had to be more alive up here; he couldn't just leave.

He couldn't... but... he had to, if he was to have a chance to clearing this mess up. The living had be Iba's responsibility; Iba's and Hanatarou's.

The dead were his.

He staggered into the transport and cycled the airlock doors closed with a weary sigh.

He was mildly surprised - mildly, because that's all he had the energy for - when he was able to drop into the chair without falling over and even more surprised when he managed to set his hands to the controls. His vision was swimming so badly he'd long since given up on trying to figure out how much was him and how much was the orbital or the transport shaking. He swallowed thickly and powered up.

First out of the asteroid field.

Then... somewhere. Belio, maybe.

Belio. Yes, Belio. Bail out his idiot crew.

Good plan.

He should stay awake long enough to put it into motion.

* * *

_Kel does apologize for the wait; real life, you know? Anyway… Limitless is picking up. Hey… explosions… woot. Next up is Ichigo, Rukia, and a very, very stupid chance meeting. Oh, and a little more blood. Who doesn't want blood?_

_Do let me know how this chapter was received, yes? Kel does love her feedback. _


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